He chuckled and resumed his task. “I was only scratching my nose. And try not to worry too much. I’m sure Rose will recover.”
“Of course she will. She’ll be after another gentleman within the week. Which is why I’m more concerned about Lily at the moment.” She paused, listening to the soft rain. “I hope this unlucky rain ceases by tomorrow.”
“Couldn’t you just move the picnic inside? Perhaps to the dining room, where civilized people usually eat?” His ribbing was as gentle as his fingers massaging her neck.
“Hmmph. Perhaps.” She would have swatted her husband had she been at all inclined to move. “But the dining room is a much more intimate space than the gardens, and I fear asking Rose to share a table with the happy couple just now…while everything is still quite raw between them…”
“But shall Rose—darling, your shoulders have tensed up again—shall Rose even deign to attend? The occasion cannot give her much pleasure.”
Chrystabel forced her muscles to relax. “She told me she’ll not hide herself away and have Rand think her pining for him. She means to attend.”
“Then perhaps we must disinvite her.”
Chrystabel was horrified. “What, and shall we dress her in rags and cast her out in the lane while we’re at it?”
“Your shoulders, Chrysanthemum. I wasn’t suggesting expelling Rose from a family picnic—that would be indefensible. But what if it were a private picnic instead?”
“A private picnic?” Now Chrystabel grew thoughtful. “You mean to let Lily and Rand dine alone? Unchaperoned?”
“You let Violet and Ford meet unchaperoned before they wed.”
“Yes, and look what nearly happened!” When Chrystabel had been stealthily arranging her eldest daughter’s marriage, in desperation she’d allowed Violet to pay a late-night visit to Lakefield House. Thanks be to heaven, her daughter’s reputation had ultimately come through unscathed, but it had been a close thing. “I’ll not repeat my mistakes by risking another daughter’s virtue. Though I’ve contrived to get them alone together for a few minutes here and there, the length of a whole meal is…however, perhaps there is a compromise…”
In silence she pondered a few more minutes while Joseph kneaded away. The last of her stiffness and discomfort had dissipated by the time she settled on the superiority of this new plan.
With renewed energy, she moved to kiss her dear husband. “I hope the rain continues tomorrow,” she said with a sly grin, reversing her earlier wish.
Joseph chuckled. “That’s my girl.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
THE SOFT drizzle of the night before had given way to real rain today, but Rand borrowed Ford’s old carriage and rode to Trentingham even though it was obvious there wouldn’t be a picnic.
He was surprised when Lady Trentingham came to meet him, carrying one of the new umbrellas imported from France. As he climbed down, she stepped closer than he would have expected and held the contraption over both of their heads. “Come along!” she said. “My skirts are getting wet.”
Obediently he walked beside her, feeling silly under the expanse of oiled canvas. Only women carried umbrellas—only wealthy women, come to that. Rich or poor, men wore hats and got drenched. “Where are we going?” he asked.
“To the picnic, of course.” Both her hands clenched on the curved ebony handle, she hurried him through the gardens. “What with the disappointing weather, I decided to set it up the summerhouse. I was nearly finished when I heard your carriage arrive. Here we are.” She stopped before one of the four arched oak doors.
He opened it, blinking at the dimness beneath the dome. It was empty—of people, in any case. Though it was a bit hard to tell in the gloom of the dreary day, there seemed to be items inside that hadn’t been there the day before.
“Go on in,” she told him, shifting the umbrella to one hand to fish a little paper package out of her pocket with the other. She gave it to him. “Light the candles. I’ll go fetch Lily.”
As she went back through the gardens, almost but not quite running in her fashionable Louis heels, he unfolded the package and found a few more of Mr. Boyle’s fire-making things. He drew one of the sulfured sticks through a fold of the paper and began lighting candles.
There seemed to be dozens of them spaced out on the benches along the wall. After nearly tripping over something in the center of the summerhouse, he decided to skirt the perimeter instead.
When he was finished, the little circular chamber was alight with a cheerful glow. Plenty enough to illuminate the “picnic” Lady Trentingham had set out on the benches. Platters of fruit, bread, sliced cheese, and sweets. A bottle of champagne and two goblets.
Only two?
He stared at them, puzzled, until Lily blew in through the same door, wearing a summery apricot gown that belied the rainy day.
Lily’s mother stood on the threshold, the front of her umbrella dripping onto the bricks. “Well, then, will you two be wanting anything else?”
Rand glanced at Lily, but she looked as confused as he felt. “Where is the rest of the family?” he asked.
The countess waved a hand. “Sadly, there’s not enough room.” She didn’t look particularly sad. “I didn’t want you and Lily to miss your betrothal picnic, but the summerhouse is rather cramped, don’t you think?”
“We could take everything into the house,” Rand suggested.
“Heavens, no. It wouldn’t be a picnic in the house.”
He couldn’t see why that should signify, but as this new arrangement was rather to his liking, he kept silent.
“All the doors are open,” Lily said slowly, and Rand glanced around to see that all four entrances to the round structure were indeed flung
